Reading De Mille's Strange Manuscript has put me in the mood for more 19th century adventure/fantasy/sci-fi novels . . . so I've started Jules Verne's A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. So far, I've been struck by the importance of books within the narrative. The eccentric uncle finds impetus for adventuring by means of a book, and, when our protagonist and his obsessed uncle arrive in Iceland, much is made of books and the Icelandic penchant for reading and studying:

we think that books instead of being locked up in cupboards, far from the sight of students, should be distributed as widely as possible. The books of our library are therefore passed from hand to hand without returning to the library shelves perhaps for years.

I've also downloaded Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World for some summer reading fun. That's not to say I've left off reading Sherlock Holmes. No, I'm still indulging in the King and Conan Doyle Holmes experience, moving on from O Jerusalem and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes to Justice Hall and The Sign of Four. The trouble is, I usually experience my Holmes-indulging right before turning off the lights and catching those all important forty winks . . . and Holmes is not the most restive character to be imagining whilst trying to snooze. Perhaps I should fit in more Holmes fixes during the day instead?

I've never tried this before, but it's proving quite fun. I'm reading both Arthur Conan Doyle AND Laurie R. King at the same time. While imbibing The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes on the Kindle, I've also started the next Mary Russell adventure on my TBR pile: O Jerusalem, which appeared in publication after The Moor though it takes place before The Moor (for chronology within and without the novels, check here).

I'm just so impressed with King's ability to imagine and deliver an authentic Holmes. As I'm reading along, I find no discord between Conan Doyle's Holmes and King's Holmes. The character could have been written by the same author so closely does King's ring true (though the narratives have different styles, of course). At the same time, King's Holmes shows evidence of character extrapolations that do not deviate from the original character but only extend it in organic-feeling directions. If that makes sense?

O Jerusalem was not shaping up to be my favourite in the Mary Russell canon, though, (I don't seem to be partial to things set in the Middle East) but now it's caught my imagination and I'm having a glorious time shuttling back and forth between Watson and Holmes in The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Russell and Holmes in O Jerusalem.

May I say again that Mary Russell is a much more interesting foil/complement/(dare I say)partner for Holmes than Watson? Even keeping in mind that the film versions of Watson invariably dumbed him down even more than the stories call for,* his is not a particularly compelling character. Russell on the other hand fairly leaps off the page and dazzles. The fact that she's a woman who can give Holmes a run for his money doesn't hurt either.

*Side note: The Holmes series in which Jeremy Brett starred is a notable exception to the idiot-Watson tradition, as is, but only to some extent, the Watson played by James Mason in Murder By Decree (here is one of my favourite scenes from the film). Not to mention the hilarious Caine/Kingsley vehicle Without A Clue. But generally, it seems Watson the idiot became a tradition early on in cinema and it just stuck. Even Without A Clue plays on the assumption that he (the Watson equivalent) is a dunderhead. For example, from Without A Clue:

A Strange Manuscript Found In A Copper Cylinder by James De Mille is one of those rare feats: a CanLit novel (even if/though unfinished) that actually deserves to be in a literary canon. The novel, appearing first in serial form in the late 1880s, is a fantastic adventure story along the lines of Verne, Wells and others writing about lost worlds in alternate human(ish) settings accompanied by the general oddities of creation that seemed to obsess so many writers/thinkers at that time (another example: Conan Doyle's The Lost World, published after De Mille).




Mr. Inkslinger was the first to recommend I read this tale. About two or three years ago we were talking about Atlantic Canadian novels that were undeservedly understudied and this was the first that came to his mind. I had never read it (I had never heard of it, in truth), and must admit that the title did little to attract me, but it went on my TBR shelf all the same (Mr. Inkslinger's taste in books may be eccentric, but he rarely steers me towards anything uninteresting). Once I began reading it I couldn't put it down. Fascinating from so many angles. It's an interesting testament to the obsessions and fears of a given era (Imperialism and the ideological justifications attendant thereto, for a start), but it holds its own as a rip-roaring adventure tale as well.

Four men come upon a strange manuscript at sea and resolve to read and dissect its meaning. The manuscript relates the first-person account of a sailor named Adam More who came across a strange land in the Antarctic region of the world. The strange land with its unearthly horizon is inhabited by incomprehensible people and what appears to be pre-historic beasts. And he has inadvertently stumbled upon a group of people organized around what appears to be a kind of obverse of his own society. Since he considers his own society as representing what is intrinsically human, this new society is quite a shock to him. Of course, as outsiders to the tale, we notice things that he does not seem to notice (more on this inside/outside approach in a moment).

There are, inevitably for the time period, racial issues as the protagonist comes in contact with what is perceived (by the protagonist) as the racial 'other', but De Mille pays less attention to race and more attention to the protagonist's expectations of what it means to be human (and how those expectations are challenged). There are gender implications, too, as More struggles to come to terms with new ideas about the possible roles for women in a society, just as he struggles to come to terms with what humans are capable of (and, indeed, what defines humanity).

The commentary provided by our readers (the four men in the novel who come across More's account) acts as a chorus for what we should be noticing as well as a foil against which we can see our own assumptions as readers. An interesting narrative device, and one which serves to put More's straightforward observations under scrutiny. This switch in the narrative itself from inside the action to the observers' seat outside the action is useful for a number of reasons, but one effect it certainly achieves is the subversion of More's authority as narrator.

I really enjoyed this novel, even if it does break off rather abruptly at the end (narrative experiment? Or the result of its possibly unfinished nature?).

I Can Never Resist A List

While perusing posts the other day, I wandered over to Bibliophiliac and saw this, about the making of a summer reading list. I immediately thought, 'yes! I need a summer reading list!' (don't you just love a good list? especially if it involves books-yet-to-be-read?). So . . . then I sat down (or, rather, continued sitting), rested my lazy head on a propped up palm and started thinking. What do I plan to read over the summer? Ordinarily, I approach summer reading as one would approach the holidays after a long term at a school . . . with generous dollops of self-indulgence, nostalgia, general laziness, etc. But two thoughts occurred to me: A). I've kind of been engaging in a lot of just-for-fun reading already this year. B) I've never really made a list of potential summer reads, always letting the chips fall where they may, so to speak.

But since I love making lists . . . here goes . . . Summer reads should be fun, decadent, or maybe involve books from one's youth that one wishes to revisit . . . let's see, what do I have on my TBR shelf that answers to those descriptors?

1. Due to the aforementioned writing project, I will be 'indulging' (ahem!) in some Ian Fleming novels. But is it really summer reading if it involves work (and/or sexism on the part of the author or protagonist or both)? No, I will leave these off the list.

#1 Revised: My Cousin Rachel by Daphne Du Maurier. I've been meaning to get around to this since I picked it up at a library sale last month. The summer is a good time for a dark tale, don't you think?

2. More Mary Russell novels!!! I sent away for, and recently received, the next instalment in the series, O Jerusalem, (I MUST read them in order) and haven't been able to indulge as yet. Although, now that I think about it, I should just point out that Laurie R. King novels are not just about fun . . . though fun they are . . . no, they're meatier than mere entertainment. Which makes them that much more fun to read! :)

3. The Rule of Four by Ian Caldwell and Dustin Thomason. My sister read and recommended this awhile back and I haven't had a chance to read it yet.

4. I've been planning on dipping into a few Rosemary Sutcliff novels I've not yet read. Perhaps Dawn Wind? Or Shield Ring? I've downloaded samples of both to the Kindle. Decisions, decisions.

5. I'm thinking of trying some Dorothy Sayers mysteries. Of the Lord Peter Wimsey persuasion. I've not read any and my mystery-loving sis has long recommended them (and she was so very correct about the greatness of Laurie R. King novels!)

6. Inevitably, there must be more Wodehouse. I'm already rereading the last of the Psmith books (my favourite, Leave It To Psmith), but I've no objection to reading some non-Psmith Wodehouse.

7. Last, but not least, Nicola Barker's Darkmans comes to mind. Not that it's frivolous reading, but I've been wanting to read it for what seems like a long time. I first came across it on Juxtabook's very interesting Top 10 Books of the Last Ten Years list (to which she's recently added the brilliant Conceit by Mary Novik!) and it immediately jumped onto my Must-Read list.

Of course, I think I'll fit in a few nostalgic reads from childhood: a few Nancy Drew novels, maybe a nice reread through the Alcott books I loved as a child (Eight Cousins, especially), and/or some L.M. Montgomery rereads perhaps? I definitely want to reread Pamela Dean's The Secret Country trilogy.

I think this is an adequate start . . . we'll see what happens.

Wandering About . . .

The blog revitalization process involved me wandering through the various links -- and searching for new links -- and I found some goodies:

• To feed my paperdoll (and book) fascination: a paperdoll book forthcoming from (Inside A Black Apple).
  

• There's a new Jane Urquhart novel on the horizon: Sanctuary Line

• And, speaking of McClelland (the publisher of the aforementioned Urquhart), the following recently released novel sounds like something I'd love to read (and will do so at the earliest opportunity, too): Curiosity by Joan Thomas is another novel set in Lyme Regis (can't have too many of those). I loved Thomas's Reading By Lightning so I'm definitely excited about Curiosity. And what a great cover, too!
  

• While not ordinarily a cupcake fan, these might just convert me. I must try them . . . must!

• I hadn't realized til just this week that Mary Novik's Conceit was available on Kindle (I'm behind the times!). Now I'm going to recommend it once again and point out how absolutely easy it is to get a copy . . . just download and there you go. :) Update: And there is a great review of Conceit at Juxtabook's blog!!
  

• And Janet has such lovely pics up from the Netherlands (I especially like these). *sigh* The Netherlands is on my Must-Must-Must-Visit-the-Ancestral-Homelands list (along with a few other places . . . I've already managed to wander about England a bit . . . though I'm not against a little re-wandering).

• And Hannah Stoneham's Book Blog has some interesting medieval pics up. Perfect for my medieval(ish) reading this week.

Just A Little Side Note In An Otherwise Medieval-Centred Day

Doing some research from a writing project and revisiting some Ian Fleming. Penguin has these very stylish (in a decidedly Bond way) editions out and I picked one up on Sunday at the local bookstore.



I chose to go with the first Bond instalment, Casino Royale (which I'd not read before . . . though it does show up on the 1001 Books To Read Before One Pops Off list, strangely enough). I have to say I found the novel generally underwhelming though the characterization is more complex than the film version(s) of Bond. Somehow, though, Bond's coldness is less intriguing in novel form (especially if one compares Sean Connery's Bond). The sexism is also complex, but overt. That wasn't really unexpected (it is Bond, after all). But when I used to sneak reads of Bond novels from my aunt's library (a.k.a. the closet-concealed stash of the forbidden-to-read-by
her-father variety), I don't seem to remember quite as much latent misogyny. Then again, this novel contains, perhaps, the genesis of Bond's distrust of the female, but it didn't quite feel that way in the earlier sections of the plot. It felt like he'd already pretty much had it with the interference and silly-mindedness of the non-prone female before he came across the personal betrayal from same.

Oh well, writing projects sometimes require the perusal and/or reading of things one might otherwise avoid.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Rampantly seems to be how our garden is growing. In the battle of the weeds, it's a pretty even contest so far (weed problems include that dratted Bishop's Weed, of all things!). That having been said, I'm surprised at how lovely (not to mention hardy) the hostas are in the front yard. Originally planted by my mother, they're vibrant and healthy, and threatening to give the Bishop's Weed a run for its money. How we're going to keep the latter from taking over everything else is another story. But the summer is young (especially 'round these parts), and the hands (if not backs) are willing.



To provide inspiration, I've started reading Judyth McLeod's In a Unicorn's Garden: Recreating the mystery and magic of medieval gardens. If anything can get me motivated to launch another onslaught against those weeds it'll be the idea of medieval gardens! I've just begun reading it, but I have already been drawing sustenance from the interesting bits of historical info juxtaposed against those glorious plant names and beautiful pics. Right now I'm reading about the mythical creatures that peppered the medieval imagination.

And here's a snippet of what I've just read:

What wonderful mythical and mystical creatures the medieval mind conjured up. They papered the spaces between known facts about the natural world with their imagination. Their world was rich with wonders, a place where dragons breathed fire and threatened to toast damsels in distress, griffins roamed, salamandars emerged unscathed from flames and geese grew on trees. The human talent for spinning fantasies was never more potent.

And, speaking of medieval, some Hildegard von Bingen:

Overdecorated Redecorated

With the exception of the header photo (which seems permanently askew in relation to the header text), the Bookcase has been (seemingly) successfully made over. A change is as good as a rest, I've been told, so this is in lieu of a nap.

And on the reading front all is Wodehouse. The cry goes round the house, 'Psmith is read once again!' (this proclamation will only make sense if, like me, you love to linger over Psmithisms) and I've now moved on to Psmith, Journalist. Having absconded from the bank (although he was bound to achieve financial success, banking, alas, was not his cup of tea), we now find Rupert (Rupert?!?!) Psmith engaged in transforming the New York newspaper scene. Allusions to slum landlords and New York gangs have already crept into the narrative and I fear Psmith may find himself entangled in the seedier side of NY. He'll be equal to the task, no doubt. He is, after all, one of the Shropshire Psmiths. Gotta love Wodehouse!

Update: solution to header photograph problem seems to be to remove the header photograph. Alas.

Currently and Recently . . .

. . . Listening to: a little bit of Chopin on a cool summer's afternoon.

. . . Reading: I'm still in the midst of reading Eliot's Romola (Tito is proving to be quite the selfish cad). And if you're into short stories, there's an excellent collection just published by Cape Breton University Press titled Loose Pearls by D.C. Troicuk. Such engrossing stories. Loving it so far!

. . . Read: I'm working my way through the Psmith tales in Wodehouse's oeuvre and I've just finished Mike . . . which recounts how Mike Jackson and Psmith met (at school) and the adventures subsequent thereto. As mentioned yesterday, I'm now making my chuckle-strewn way through Psmith in the City.

. . . Watched: New Moon. Which proved to be a vast improvement over the first Twilight film instalment, but still sadly lacked any of the appeal of the novels for me. Alas.

. . . Planning On: Getting back to those waiting-to-be-written reviews. Work awaits . . . but how can one complain when work involves reading and writing?

Scattered Reading and Thinking

In the midst of some domestic upheaval (involving a storage facility and the necessity of getting everything out of one and moving it to another . . . in a hurry), I'm reading a bit here and there (for work and play) and finding my mind making some odd connections.

For example, I began my day reading some morning Wodehouse (Psmith in the City . . . in which comrade Psmith is to be found slaving away at a bank of all things), blissfully enjoying the observations of the frequently over-the-top, but oh-so-endearing Psmith. Psmith's way of addressing another character is priceless, and his distinctive calling card as a character. It sticks in the imagination (the call goes round the city 'Psmith knows how to deliver the bon mot' :). So much so, evidently, that when it came time to move on to some serious reading with Forster and Aspects of the Novel, I began to read it as if it were being delivered by Psmith. Which is initially disconcerting, until one realizes they really do have a particular cadence in common and it's not that my mind is fizzing out from tiredness (okay, perhaps it is).

At any rate, here's a quick quote from Psmith in the City while I dash off to rescue our boxes from a warehouse:

"Psmith's attitude towards the slings and arrows of outrageous Fortune was to regard them with a bland smile, as if they were part of an entertainment got up for his express benefit."

If only I could borrow a little of his approach to life today!

Review: Strange Heaven by Lynn Coady

Don't get me wrong, Lynn Coady knows how to write. Palpable emotions from characters who are undeniably real and who utter dialogue that rings true. I read and thoroughly enjoyed Mean Boy when it came out a few years ago. And, if you're into dark, tragically humourous tales about apathetic teens, then I'd recommend Strange Heaven.* The newly released Reader's Guide edition by Goose Lane is lovely (to look at and hold) and informative, with gushing Afterword by Marina Endicott and an author interview (complete with book recommendations) in back.

Coady says of Strange Heaven in the interview, "I think it's a very young and sloppy book" and she's partly right . . . it is very young, and while I'd disagree about the sloppy, it does seem incomplete somehow. The narrative follows seventeen year old Bridget Murphy as she leaves the mental ward of a hospital for Christmas holidays with her loud, believably strange family. She's been suffering from depression, having giving birth to a boy and then given him up for adoption. Her family loves her, but obviously does not understand her. And they are otherwise preoccupied . . . by life in a small town (her personal tragedy upstaged by the murder of another teenage girl), by an aging unbalanced grandmother, Margaret P (most of the humour centres around Margaret P's demented utterings), by a misunderstanding of what is wrong with Bridget. Her life is also complicated by one mentally challenged uncle and one off-the-wagon uncle. Not to mention an ex-boyfriend who thinks the best way to regaining a relationship is by behaving like a jerk.

The swearing is colourful, the actions and emotions expressed feel authentic, and the awareness of the kind of life Bridget doesn't want, yet feels inevitably entangled within, becomes oppressively real as the narrative progresses. This novel definitely sucks you in.

But I can't say I loved it. I admired the writing, became involved in Bridget's life, but somehow felt strangely let down by the whole experience. Perhaps that's the nature of this kind of tragedy. Not Aristotle's catharsis, but something that touches too close to reality in the Maritimes? Unsure. I have taught young women not all that dissimilar from Bridget. I've seen where and how they live. I'm not sure this novel adds any insight for that reality. Perhaps that's the let down.

*Note: Much thanks to Goose Lane Editions for the review copy.

Another from Forster's Aspects of the Novel:

Neither memory nor anticipation is much interested in Father Time, and all dreamers, artists and lovers are partially delivered from his tyranny; he can kill them, but he cannot secure their attention

Reading E.M. Forster's Aspects of the Novel:

As long as learning is connected with earning, as long as certain jobs can only be reached through exams, so long must we take the examination system seriously. If another ladder to employment was contrived, much so-called education would disappear, and no one be a penny the stupider.

and

The reader must sit down alone and struggle with the writer, and this the pseudo-scholar will not do. He would rather relate a book to the history of its time, to events in the life of its author, to the events it describes, above all to some tendency.